An Opera in Chaos
by Pbam1236
Summary: The Phantom as you've never seen him before...a Spartan warrior? Raoul having a love affair with his hair? Christine actually standing up for herself? The Opera Populaire really IS in chaos!
1. Chapter 1

**So, many of you have expressed that you would like to read this parody. For those who don't know, I have written this parody not for my own sake or yours. No, I had to write this as an assignment in English. But I have been told to put it on her as well, so I am complying. A reason why this may seem, oh I don't know, BAD, please bear in mind that I had a writing period of only a few days to write this. So, onto An Opera in Chaos!**

Chapter 1

There was a screeching emanating from the Opera Populaire that everyone from Paris to the United States could hear. Of course, it was Senora Carlotta Guidicelli, singing in rehearsal for the new opera, Hannibal. Of course, she thought of herself as amazing. But everyone else with properly-working ears, save for her lover, Senor Ubaldo Piangi, could tell that she had far surpassed her prime. The opera house management only kept her on for the sake of their own ears, lest they would want them to be torn off by the diva herself.

"This trophy,  
>From our saviors, from our saviors,<br>From the enslaving force,  
>Of ROME!"<p>

The rest of the song went off without a hitch, other than the little interruption of the former manager, Monsieur Lefevre, introducing the new owners of the Opera Populaire, Monsieurs Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre, and the new patron, Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

Among the ballerinas that gossiped about the new owners, a girl named Christine Daae recognized the patron.

"Meg, it's Raoul." She confided with her friend, Meg Giry. "We met, before my father died, at the house by the sea. We were, in a way, childhood sweethearts. He used to call me Little Lotte."

Meg swooned. "Oh, Christine, he's so handsome. And look at that hair. Voluminous. I wish I had hair like that."

Christine giggled at her friend's antics before the Madame Giry, the ballet mistress and Meg's mother, motioned for the dancers to begin their performance. She was aware of the new managers ogling at her and the other ballerinas, but she paid no attention and threw herself into the dance. By the time the song was finished, she could hear another one of Carlotta's fits.

"I've-a had it up to here-a with everyone paying attention to the ballerinas and not to me! I'm-a the main reason everyone comes to this-a awful place!" she shouted, walking towards the doors. The managers chased after her, trying to persuade her to stay.

"Goddess of song!" Firmin exclaimed. _Wow,_ Christine thought to herself. _He really missed his calling. He should be an actor._

Andre spoke up, addressing the conductor. "Monsieur Reyer, isn't there an aria for the character of Elissa in Act 3 of Hannibal?"

Carlotta interrupted him as he began to stutter his answer. "Yes-a, yes-a, yes-a, but no! I do not a-have my costume for Act 3 because-a somebody not finish it-a! And, I 'ate my 'at!"

She started to (stage) cry when Andre began to almost beg her to sing it. "But, Senora, I would ask that you oblige us with your rendition, if, of course, Monsieur Reyer objects-"

"No!" Carlotta interrupted, suddenly stopping her crying fit. "I shall sing as my managers' command. Monsieur Reyer!" she commanded.

"M-my diva commands." He managed to stutter out before going back to his rise in the orchestra pit. Once he was settled, he instructed the piano player to begin playing the aria.

_"__Think of me,_  
><em>Think of me fondly,<em>  
><em>When we've said GOODbye…<em>"

Christine envied the maids who were smart enough to bring cotton to put in their ears. How she hated being in the ballet. True, she was one of the best dancers, but she longed to sing on stage, such as Carlotta was trying to do. She knew she was ready, even her Angel of Music said she was ready. But how would she ever get a part with Carlotta dictating the whole opera house?

She was brought out of her musings by Meg's shrill scream. A backdrop was falling, and it was heading straight for Carlotta. She dramatically fell when the backdrop landed right behind her. By the time the managers helped her up, the whole cast was in a frenzy. Whispers of "_It was the Phantom of the Opera!_" and "_The Phantom did this_!" rippled through themasses of actors and dancers.

"Senora," Andre exclaimed, trying to remedy the situation. "These things do happen."

Carlotta gave him a look of disbelief. "Si, these things do 'appen. For the past 3 years, these _things_ do 'appen! Well, until these things stop 'appening, this thing does _not_ 'appen! Ubaldo, adiamo!" she demanded as she stormed out of the opera house.

Her entourage, as well as Piangi, followed closely behind her, but Piangi quickly turned to the managers and simply uttered, "Amateurs."

By now, the cast and crew had flown into a frenzy about the absence of the diva, some distressed about finding a new soprano, others silently cheering as she walked out of their opera house and lives (hopefully) forever.

Madame Giry whisked up stealthily to the managers taking them by surprise. "I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost."

Firmin rolled his eyes. "Oh dear God in heaven, you are all obsessed!"

Madame Giry continued. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house, commands that you continue to leave Box 5 empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary is due."

Andre raised his eyebrow in confusion. "You give a _ghost_ a salary?"

"Only twenty thousand francs a month."

This sent the managers themselves into a frenzy of their own. "Twenty thousand francs?!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Perhaps you can afford more with the Vicomte as your new patron." Madame Giry said, a smirk of her lips.

Firmin tore the letter out of Madame Giry's hands, reading for himself the demands that this strange specter had given. "Well, now we shall have no money as we have lost our star! And on opening night!"

"Christine Daae could sing it, sir!" Meg suddenly exclaimed. Christine put her hand over Meg's mouth, but the damage had already been done.

"A ballet girl?" Andre sneered. "Don't be ridiculous."

"But she has been taking lessons from a great teacher." Meg persisted.

"From who?" Firmin asked Christine.

Christine hesitated, then finally stammered, "I-I don't know, sir."

"Daae?" Andre said thoughtfully. "That's a curious name. Any relation to the Swedish violinist?"

"My father, Sir."

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well-taught." Madame Giry offered.

The managers looked at each other, then nodded their heads in unison. "Very well."

Monsieur Reyer again took his place in the orchestra pit. "From the beginning of the aria then, please, mademoiselle."

Christine nervously walked to the center of the stage as the piano began to play. She was so nervous; she thought she would faint. She was ready to sing the lead, yes, but not at that very moment!

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves." She vaguely heard Firmin say, to which Andre replied, "Well, she's very pretty."

Then she began to sing.

**I own nothing but my own humor.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

That night, Christine became a star. The audience adored her, and the cast looked at her with a new respect. She couldn't believe it: her dream was coming true, and it was all thanks to her Angel of Music her father sent her.

When Gustave Daae was still alive, he would always tell little Christine about the Angel of Music, and how, when he was gone from this world, he would send the Angel to her. Christine hung on to every word about the Angel that came out of her father's mouth.

Gustave died when Christine was seven years old. Madame Giry took her in after his death and began to train her in the art of ballet. Every night since then, Christine would go into the chapel and light a candle for her father. One night, though, was different.

Christine was crying in the chapel, begging for her father to come back to her. Then she heard a voice call out to her.

"My child, why do you cry?"

She gasped and looked all around her, seeing no one. "Who are you?"

"Why, I am your Angel of Music, of course."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Her father really did send the Angel of Music to her! "Angel! I thought you would never come. Why can't I see you?"

"Because mere mortals are not able to see celestial beings, my dear. I am here to help you learn to sing, but only if you would like to have me guide you."

"Oh, yes, of course!" she exclaimed.

"Good." She could hear the smile in her new master's voice.

She received voice lessons from the voice of her Angel for 10 years after that, all the way to her first singing success.

Christine was in the chapel, lighting a candle for her father, as always. She then heard the ever-comforting voice of her Angel.

_"__Brava, Brava, Bravissima…"_

She heard someone call out her name, but quickly forgot when the Angel said her name as well. Oh, his voice was like heaven itself, fit only for an angel.

"Christine!" Meg's voice, once again, brought her out of her thoughts. "Where in the world have you been? There's a whole party going on upstairs for you."

"I'm sorry, Meg. I just needed to come down here for a moment."

Meg shrugged. "Well, anyways, you were perfect. Who is your teacher? You never told me."

Christine hesitated. "Meg, remember how I used to tell you that my father would send me the Angel of Music?"

"Well, yes, but I don't see how that has anything to do with you singing like an angel….oh, wait. Your teacher is your Angel, right?"

"Yes. He's been teaching me ever since your mother brought me here." Christine said excitedly.

"Christine," Meg started. "Are you sure it's your Angel of Music and not…something else? _Someone_ else?"

Christine scoffed. "Meg, don't be ridiculous. Of course it's my Angel of Music teaching me. Who else could it be?"

"Just be careful. I hope you know what you're doing." Meg said as she led Christine to her dressing room. They were soon intercepted by Madame Giry, relieving Meg to go practice with the other ballerinas.

Once Meg was out of earshot, Madame Giry turned to Christine, handing her a blood red rose, a black ribbon tied around it. "You did very well, my dear." She said. "He is pleased with you."

"Who is?" Christine asked.

"Your Angel." was Madame Giry's simple reply.

Christine's eyes widened. "You know my Angel?"

Madame Giry stiffened. "Yes, in a way. Now get dressed. The costumer would have your head if you got this dress dirty." She said as she left Christine at the dressing room door.

As Christine opened the door, she could hear someone counting. Upon further investigation, she discovered Raoul counting as he brushed his hair.

_Some things never change…_ she thought to herself._ I do wonder why he counts while he brushes his hair though…_

Raoul jumped nearly to the ceiling when Christine cleared her throat. "May I help you monsieur?" she politely asked.

"Ah, surely you remember me. I was that scrawny little boy who ran into the sea to get your red scarf." He said with a reminiscent tone.

"Of course I remember you, Raoul." She said, smiling. "You haven't changed a bit. If anything, I thought you wouldn't recognize _me_. You didn't even acknowledge me when the new owners introduced you this morning."

"I'm sorry, Little Lotte. I had…other things occupying my mind. I hope you can accept my form of apology by letting me take you to dinner."

Before she could answer, a booming voice filled the room. "You shall not win this battle, boy!"

"What on earth was that?" Raoul inquired.

Christine recognized the voice instantly, but refrained from saying so. "Raoul, I'm sorry, but I cannot join you for dinner tonight. I have a voice lesson."

"But surely after such a spectacular performance you should be in no need of any more lessons. I shall collect you in ten minutes." Raoul said, walking out the door.

Christine called out to Raoul, but to no avail. Soon, the booming voice of her Angel was back.

_"__Insolent boy, this slave of fashion,_

_Basking in your glory,_

_Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor,_

_Sharing in my triumph!"_

Christine could tell he was mad. Who wouldn't be after someone directly disobeyed their orders and commands?

_"__Angel, I hear you, speak, I listen,_

_Stay by my side, guide me,_

_Angel my soul was weak, forgive me,_

_Enter at last, Master…"_

This instantly remedied the situation, as the Angel's voice turned pure as silk again.

_Flattering child, you shall know me,_

_See why in shadow I hide,_

_Look at your face in the mirror,_

_I am there inside!"_

Christine did as she was told, and saw the most shocking thing: her Angel of Music.

Or, most popularly known as, The Phantom of the Opera.

She felt as if she was singing, but she wasn't paying attention. Her mind was too focused on the fact that her Angel was the elusive Phantom. Why didn't he tell her? Was it maybe because he thought she would refuse his help if she had known his true identity? Or maybe it was because of what he hid under the stark white mask he always wore. She heard the stories Joseph Buquet would tell the ballerinas to scare them. He would say that he had no face at all. But standing there looking at him, she could tell he had a face. A rather handsome one at that.

_Christine, you idiot, what are you thinking?_ She berated herself. _The Phantom of the Opera just revealed himself to you and all you can think about is how cute he looks. For shame!_

All thoughts left her head as he sang to her again, entrancing her.

_"__I am your Angel of Music,_  
><em>Come to me, Angel of Music…"<em>

She could hear Raoul trying to come into the door which someone had apparently locked. He broke the spell that the Phantom had woven over her. She heard the Phantom growl at the interruption, then resume calling to her.

_"__I am your Angel of Music,_  
><em>Come to me, Angel of Music…<em>"

This worked as she was once again thoughtless… and walking towards him. He held his gloved hand out for her to take, promises of wonders beyond her wildest dreams in his eyes. She took his hand and they began their descent down to his lair.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

On the way down to where the Phantom resided, Christine couldn't help but study him a bit more. Under all the black he wore, he seemed to be in pretty good shape. He reminded her of the Spartan warriors in the days of Ancient Greece. Maybe he was of Grecian descent, his ancestors having marched to war to defend their beloved city.

He kept looking back at her, as if making sure she was still there. Every time he did, she would look at his features, or at least the ones not covered by the mask. He had beautiful golden eyes, she noticed. She could just drown herself in them.

_Get a hold of yourself, Daae!_ She berated herself once more. She shook her head slightly and focused on the tunnel stretching for what seemed like miles. Once they reached the end, she noticed it came out into a great lake, a boat moored on the shore. The Phantom helped her inside the boat, then hopped in himself and started rowing.

They came upon a portcullis, blocking the way for them to continue along the lake. Once they slightly rammed into it, the Phantom went to the front of the boat and pulled a big key ring from his cape. There had to have been fifty keys on the key ring, and he tried each and every key on that portcullis. Finally, with the last key, the portcullis opened, revealing his lair.

He looked back at Christine, a look of embarrassment on his face. "I always forget which one it is." He explained.

When the portcullis finally opened, Christine instantly recognized that this man was a man of the arts…and weaponry, it seemed. Spears, swords, heavy-looking shields, among other dangerous-looking weapons hung in one half the lair, while the other half consisted of a pipe organ, scattered sheet music, and multiple miniature sculptures and drawings.

Drawings of her.

Drawings of her…as a warrior princess?

In her shock, she did not see that the Phantom had gotten out of the boat and secured it to the shore. "I have brought you down here for two reasons," he stated, shaking Christine out of her stupor. "The first reason is to formally apologize. I realize that I have been lying to you about my true identity, and for that, I would like to remedy. I, _mon cherie_, am the Phantom of the Opera. My real name, however is Erik. You may call me whatever you wish, as everyone else already does."

"But why would you lie to me about who you truly were?"

He sighed. "I was afraid that you would not accept my help. I knew that if I came to you as your Angel of Music, you wouldn't run away."

Christine got out of the boat and walked towards Erik while still holding a respectable distance between them. "Well, I thank you for your teaching and guidance throughout the years. For that, I am truly grateful. I accept your apology."

Erik let out a sigh of relief and bowed his head. "Thank you. Now, onto the second reason. I also brought you down here to-"

"Let me guess," Christine interrupted. "You're going to profess your undying love for me and ask me to marry you."

Erik's face adapted a strange look. "I was actually going to offer you a different type of lesson."

"Oh? And what would these lessons consist of?"

"Teaching you how to fight." was his simple answer.

Christine stumbled in her shock. "Pardon?"

Erik chuckled at her reaction. "I am proposing, yes, but not marriage. Living in an opera house does not prepare you for the real world of violence and cruelty, Christine. You need to learn how to defend yourself, your honor, like any warrior knows how. And who better to teach you than someone who has already been teaching you for years?"

She eyed her teacher. "Why bring this up now?"

"I saw how the Vicomte was looking at you and treating you. Forgive me for believing that you may need these skills in the near future."

Christine thought for a minute. _Surely there would be no harm in me learning how to defend myself._ "Alright, I accept your offer. When shall we start?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Apparently with her acceptance of Erik's proposal, training started that moment. The next morning, Christine awoke to the sound of a music box playing. She was stiff and sore…and not in her own bed. She instantly sat up and took in her surroundings. Rock walls, no windows, Persian rugs, bows and arrows on a deadly display. She was still in Erik's lair. But where was Erik?

Almost as if on cue, she heard him playing on his pipe organ. She had never heard the piece he was playing before, but it was beautiful. She walked over to him to ask him about it, but then started to think. He hadn't noticed her approach him; he was too absorbed in his music. What else would he not notice?

She walked up right behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. No response.

She tickled the back of his neck. Nothing.

She even went so far as to kiss his cheek, but he still showed no sign of recognizing she was even in the same world as he was.

_Hmm…_ she thought. _Maybe I'll have to do something extreme._ Then her eyes landed on his mask.

Her hand automatically reached out to take it from his face, but she hesitated. _What if he gets mad at me?_ She thought. _There must be a reason for him to wear it. It wouldn't be right for me to invade his privacy like that._

Just as she pulled her hand back to her side, Erik turned to her. "Ah, I see you're awake. Come, we have much to do."

As he stood from the bench, Christine blurted, "Why do you wear a mask?"

He stiffened at her sudden question. "I would appreciate it if we could put this matter to rest without outburst or explanation."

Christine shrank back at his menacing tone. "I'm sorry. I won't bringnit up again."

"See to it that you do not." After seeing the hurt in Christine's eyes, Erik went on. "Curiosity is viewed as a weakness. My advice is take action first, ask questions later."

Christine took this advice to heart as she reached out and ripped the mask from his face.

Erik roared out in anger. "I didn't mean right this minute! Curse you!"

"Well, if you didn't want me to, you shouldn't have given me such advice!" Christine argued. "Besides, what's the big deal, anyways? It's not like your face is scary or anything."

"Yes, it is. It is also a secret. To ensure that this secret is kept from the world, you shall never be free! No one who sees the Phantom's face lives to tell the tale."

Christine was truly scared now. "You aren't going to kill me, are you?"

Erik scoffed. "Of course not. That would be a waste of talent, and I do not waste such things. No, you shall stay here forever."

"Really?" Christine asked, not sure how to count this: a curse or a blessing.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Over the next few months, Christine and Erik worked on strength, durability, fighting skills, and a new aria that Erik had wrote. Christine couldn't complain about her new living conditions: she had her own room, plenty of food, and her daily lessons in singing and fighting. At first, she feared she would not like the fighting very much, but as the days rolled on, she grew to enjoy sparring with Erik daily. She was getting better with each day, even beating Erik on her very best days. She couldn't help but now picture herself as Erik had portrayed her in his drawings: a warrior princess.

One day, though, she feared it would all end.

She and Erik were sparring as usual; their swords clashing so hard at times, sparks would fly.

"You're getting good." Erik commented.

"I learn from the best." was Christine's reply.

As they went on, Erik stripped Christine of her sword and had her pinned to the ground. "Give."

She sighed. "Alright, fine, I give. I very well can't don't do anything with you on top of me, can I?"

They were laughing when all of the sudden they heard a splash coming from the lake. They looked over to discover that it was Raoul.

"Raoul, what are you doing here?" Christine demanded.

He was panting from his journey. "Saving you…f-from this beast!" he exclaimed.

Erik growled low in his throat and was about to reply when Christine cut him off. "Erik, let me handle this. Remember what you always say: emotion is always good in a fight but sometimes it is an unnecessary trait. You're too emotional at the moment. Let me handle Raoul."

He hesitated for a moment, giving Raoul a death glare, before finally nodding at Christine and walked into his room. As he shut his door, Christine walked over to Raoul and slapped him: hard. "How dare you call him a beast?! He is nothing of the sort! What did he ever do to you, anyways?"

"He took you away and held you captive down here for months, Christine: that's what he did!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "You really are an idiot, aren't you? I have had plenty of opportunities to go back up there, but I never took them. Do you want to know why, Raoul? I like it down here! Besides, you couldn't have been _too_ worried about me to come down here a few months after I went missing. Now, if I were your hair, that would be a different story entirely, now wouldn't it?" she asked, casually flicking his hair off of his shoulder.

He flinched away, instantly smoothing his hair down. "Hey, easy with the hair. I just had it redone yesterday."

"Let's face it: I'm fine down here and in absolutely no need of rescue. So why don't you just go back up and mess with your stupid hair some more."

Raoul gasped in shock and started to gently pet his hair. "Oh, she didn't mean it. You are not stupid, you are absolutely perfect." He said to it.

Christine was starting to get irritated. "Go, Raoul."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving without you."

"I believe the mademoiselle told you to leave," a deep voice boomed, intervening in their argument. Christine turned to find Erik with his sword in his hand. "I agree wholeheartedly."

She heard Raoul draw his own sword. "Make me."

Erik came at him, his sword at the ready. They fought hard, matching each other in strength, but not in skill. Erik spun around Raoul and his blade met Raoul's arm, earning a yelp of pain from Raoul.

"First blood, I win."

Raoul charged at Erik, a roar of fury escaping his throat. He did nothing but succeed in falling further into Erik's trap. At the absolute perfect time, Erik grabbed Raoul from behind and put his sword to his throat. "Give?"

"Never!" Raoul snarled.

"Oh, well that's too bad. What a shame that such perfect hair will soon be mutilated by my sword-"

"Give! I surrender!" Raoul interrupted, almost crying. "Just please don't mess up my hair!"

Erik huffed. "Alright, your hair is safe for another day. Now go back up to where you belong, Vicomte." He said, releasing Raoul and giving him a rather rough shove.

"You're all crazy! Everyone in this place is absolutely mad!" Raoul shrieked as he stormed towards the lake.

"You speak if madness?" Erik asked, effectively stopping Raoul in his tracks. He slowly made his way down to where Raoul stood. "Of course it is madness." He was right behind him. "This…is…OPERA!" he shouted as he turned to face him then kicked him into the lake.

Christine gasped. "Erik, was that really necessary?"

Erik shrugged. "Would you rather him be strung up by the Punjab lasso?"

"I guess not."

"Then yes, by all means, it was necessary."

Christine laughed. "Alright, if you say so."

They went back to sparring, and in the very end, Christine won.

**Aaaand that's the end of it. Thank you to all of those who have read this!**


End file.
